Life During Wartime
by EMILY-LAWLESS
Summary: What if the Avengers didn't defeat Loki and the Chitauri in New York City, and the God of Mischief traveled to England to further dominate Midgard? Loki/OFC. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

So, today I was thinking, what if the Avengers didn't defeat Loki? Where would he end up after New York City? Funnily enough, I decided on England, specifically, my home city of London. This is a romance story at it's core, although there may be some graphic violence in later chapters. I would love to hear your opinions!

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Life During Wartime

Frances had always been privileged. Her private schooling and exposure to wealth at such a young age had made her appreciate the value of money, and the luxuries it could afford its owner. Unlike most heiresses, Frances saw the importance of independence, and as such, refused to live a life paid for by her parents. She was born the first daughter to Lord and Lady Booth of Buckinghamshire, a noble family of high standing on the British social ladder. Her mother and father went on to have three other children, Elisabeth, Catherine and William, all now teenagers whilst Frances was soon approaching her twenty-third birthday. A student of English literature at Cambridge University, Frances was always drawn to academia, whilst the rest of her siblings preferred to amble through life attached to their parents' credit cards. They were of the mentality that they would always have riches, thanks to the successes of the ones that spawned them, a mentality that Frances regarded with much disdain. Her sister, Elisabeth, the second eldest at twenty, was a permanent fixture on the London social scene, often photographed exiting nightclubs worse-for-wear with other noble offspring. Catherine was less of an exhibitionist but still dangerously addicted to over-spending, and at sixteen she still boarded at Wycombe Abbey, the same school which all three girls had attended. William, the only boy of the family, boarded at Eton College, a budding sports player and all round lady-killer at the tender age of seventeen.

After leaving Cambridge with a first class degree, Frances decided to move to London to pursue a career in publishing, but when that turned sour she found herself working as an intern to a top government official. The position had been given to her partly because of her family history, her employer knew that the Booth's were a trustworthy family, one capable of keeping many secrets. That's how she discovered them, the Avengers, a covert security team of demi-God's, billionaires and scientific experiments gone wrong. Her boss worked closely with Nick Fury in a transatlantic partnership, he divulging information on the latest security threats whilst Fury would update him on the actions and whereabouts of the Avengers. Frances was made to sign the Official Secrets Act, ensuring that the existence of the Avengers would never be made public knowledge unless entirely necessary. But it seemed that the secrecy afforded to the peculiar team of heroes would soon come to an end, and it was only a matter of time before every man, woman and child knew of the Avengers.

Frances stood in the response room, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. The room was full up to the brim, the Prime Minister in the centre, surrounded by his staff, civil servants and control room operators lined the walls. On the screen New York city was burning, a scene of carnage worse than Frances had ever seen, worse than the world had ever seen. Nothing could compare to what they were all collectively witnessing, not the events of September 11th or the First World War. They watched as the Avengers battled the alien race, the Chitauri, a name familiar to only a few people in the room. They watched as Loki Laufeyson, the brother of Thor, rode his way through the city, his horned helmet making him look every bit as menacing as intended. Some of the civil servants made calls on their mobile phones, desperately trying to reach loved ones in New York. The Prime Minister was silent whilst he watched, silently praying that the Avengers managed to defeat the Chitauri army, that this crisis would be averted before it reached Britain's shores. Frances was optimistic, although she had only met one Avenger in her life-time, Tony Stark, a good friend of her parents, she had spoken to Nick Fury on several occasions and had every faith in his group of misfits.

"How did this happen?", the first words spoken by the Prime Minister in what felt like an age.

"We're not sure Prime Minister, S.H.I.E.L.D had Loki prisoner the last time I heard from Fury," replied Frances' boss, his palms sweating under the intense pressure.

"Not good enough Ed, why wasn't I warned? What the fuck has happened to the communication around here? We're supposed the be a fucking government, to protect the people, now we've got a God with dreams of world domination and entire army of cretins at his fucking heels," the Prime Minister bellowed, fumbling in his suit pocket for his packet of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply, the smoke mingled with the venom of his voice, "someone is going to pay for this Ed, and it's not going to be me."

Frances couldn't take her eyes off the screen, the siege on New York appeared to get worse by the minute, with the Avengers astoundingly overpowered by the Chitauri army. There were live pictures of Loki Laufeyson, she had never laid eyes upon him before and she wondered whether this was the same Laufeyson that Ed always spoke of. This Laufeyson was slender, with long black hair, he looked more like a high fashion model than a jealous, domineering demi-God born of Frost Giant heritage. There was something about him that did not sit well with her, he was truly psychotic, burning and destroying the city that never sleeps. Her eyes were glued to the screen, and she watched as each satellite connection failed, as each newscaster apologised for the cut in live transmission and as each station suddenly went dead. The room began to bustle, the Prime Minister screamed at anyone and everyone who neared him, urgent calls were made to Nick Fury, to the President, to anyone who could keep the room informed.

"Prime Minister, I just got off the phone with the President," shouted a member of his cabinet that Frances didn't recognise. The man was young, around Frances' age, perhaps a few years younger, he was dressed smartly in a button down suit, sleeves rolled out, sweat beads collecting on his forehead, he looked in shock.

"Spit it out boy," commanded the Prime Minister, lighting yet another cigarette.

"The Avengers lost Sir, Loki and his Chitauri have taken hold of the majority of the East Coast, he-he appears to have won. The President is evacuating to the emergency bunker, he suggested you do the same," the young boy stuttered over his words, essentially delivering the first message of the apocalypse. Frances took a deep breath, some in the room began to cry, manically dialling their families to warn them of impending doom. The Prime Minister was deathly silent, and it was Ed's voice in her ear that shook her from her trance.

"Call Fury, now."


	2. Chapter 2

Just to warn you, this story will be a **mega **slow-burner, as in the romance won't start for a while. Whilst writing this, I listened to a lot of Johan Sebastian Bach, most notably 'Air', which is the song I refer to at the end of the chapter. Also Jerry Speyer is the owner of the Rockefeller Center if you're wondering. Please review if you enjoyed this.

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Life During Wartime

_Chapter Two_

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The Prime Minister was in a state of shock, words failed him, attempts at any kind of leadership were non-existent. His staff milled around the room, speaking hurriedly into their telephones to all manner of important people. Madeleine, a slightly greying member of the Cabinet, was speaking in hushed tones to Buckingham Palace, informing the Royal family of the current events. She looked concerned as she advised the person on the other line to evacuate, per the President's orders. Frances frantically dialed Nick Fury's number, desperate to speak to the one man who could inform her of the fate of the Avengers, the so-called 'Earth's Mightiest Heroes'. Young staff members set up laptops in all corners of the room, scouring the Internet for the latest updates on the situation across the Atlantic.

"Romanoff is dead Sir," called one man, his eyes never leaving the screen of his laptop. Frances froze, if Natasha Romanoff was dead, what fate was in store for the rest of the Avengers? On the seventh call to Fury, he answered.

"Frances," he said, his voice cold, no longer the warm and boisterous man she once spoke to fondly.

"Nick, what the hell is going on? All the TV stations are down, Natasha is dead, the god-damn President is on Air Force One heading for god knows where!" she screamed, exasperated.

Fury breathed heavily, "it failed Fran. We underestimated the power of the tesseract, of Loki and his army." Fran's stomach dropped, she pinched the bridge of her nose and stared at her shoes, unsure of what to say.

"How could this have happened Nick? The Avengers were fool-proof, where is Thor? Stark? What about Banner, he can't be dead as well?" she was desperate for any information that might go some way to reassuring the Prime Minister that all hope was not lost.

"At the moment, their whereabouts are unknown. We've been trying to track them down for a half hour now," in the background, Frances could hear the commotion on board the helicarrier, "we will trace them if they are still alive."

"Of course they're still alive," Frances said, although she couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.

"Fran?" Fury said her name as if it were a question.

"Don't say it Nick, please don't say it."

"Loki won't stop until he's conquered every inch of this world, the only thing we can do now is lay low whilst we think of a plan. I've met this guy Fran, I've seen him destroy an entire room full of people without breaking a sweat." The Director sounded hopeless, it was the first time Frances had ever heard him sound so dejected, so utterly despondent.

"Nick, please, there is a way, we will find a way," Fran exclaimed, "the Avengers will save us, they're unbeatable."

Fury chuckled, but there was nothing funny about the situation, he knew that the Avengers wouldn't be able to hold back the might of Loki and his army. Although he wanted to tell Frances that everything would indeed be okay, that she could go home tonight with the knowledge that the world was defended, he couldn't lie to her. "They are beatable Frances, they've been beaten," he exhaled a breath he'd been holding.

Frances was without words, the telephone dropped from her hand as Fury delivered the bad news. In seven words, Fury had managed to convey that Loki Laufeyson was headed for world domination, and that he would succeed. Frances recalled her boss talking about Loki's materialization in Stuttgart, Germany, his murder of an innocent man and his unhealthy obsession with getting humans to kneel in front of him. She hadn't seen the footage herself but it was the subject of conversation for days among several women in the office.

"Frances, Frances! What's the matter?" Ed shook her by the shoulders, his face inches from hers.

"F-Fury. He said...the Avengers have failed." Frances looked into his eyes and saw the blood drain from his face, he released her shoulders and let his arms hang loosely at his sides.

"Fuck," he breathed, a sweaty palm running through his hair.

Ed lit a cigarette, offering one to Frances, which she accepted gratefully. They both smoked violently, aggressively inhaling and exhaling as they tried to think of the best way to break the news to the Prime Minister. It wasn't as simple as telling him the Avengers initiative had fail, they would both be delivering a message of doom, a literal declaration of the end of the world as we know it. Loki had won the East Coast, and it was only a matter of time until he brought his vengeance to Europe. If America had fallen, what hope did they have of defeating him? Sure, they had army's and nuclear weapons, but what use are they when your enemy is a Norse God.

"Ed, what news?" asked the Prime Minister.

Ed looked at Frances, she nodded at him in approval and rubbed her forehead, trying to relieve her stress headache. "Fury says the Avengers have failed Sir, America has fallen, it's only a matter of time before he and his army head here."

The Prime Minister was truly beyond despair as he listened to Ed speak, there was no escape, no scenario in which they triumphed Loki and the Chitauri.

"Prepare my plane, prepare a second for my family," ordered the Prime Minister, stubbing out his umpteenth cigarette.

Frances smoked, her back against the wall, unsurprised that the Prime Minister was bolting to the safety of his emergency bunker. He was like most supposedly great leaders, capable of riling voters into the most rip roaring of crowds, yet when danger was truly at their doorstep, they fled in fear, unwilling to stay and defend their nation. They would flee whilst the ordinary man fought for his life on the street, the very thought of such cowardice made Frances feel nauseated. She thought of her family, of her parents in their country house, undoubtedly they were watching the events unfold before the live feed was cut. She wondered what their reaction was, did they spit out their tea as they saw an army of alien creatures crush the Rockefeller Center, did they make hurried phone calls to well-to-do friends, desperately trying to get more information? Her phone rang suddenly, a piercing sound that did well to drag her out of her daydream.

"Hello?" she questioned the caller, a privately held number.

"Frances, darling, what on earth is going on?" her mother's voice filled the telephone line, full of worry.

Frances sighed, her parent's had limited knowledge of what she did for a living, simply thinking her daughter was a lowly government assistant. "You wouldn't believe me, even if I swore on my life, you wouldn't believe," she whispered, unsure of how to break it to her mother that the world was in the process of take over by an alien race and the God of Mischief.

"Tell me Frances," her mother commanded, "your father and I watched Jerry's beloved building crumble to the ground. We can't get ahold of him, we can't reach anyone." Jerry Speyer, a close family friend and the owner of what used to be the Rockefeller Center, Frances recalled trips to New York as a child, how she and her siblings would run through the floors of great skyscrapers, pressing their young faces against the glass windows and peering down at the world below them. Frances chocked back the tears as she explained everything to her mother, of how she had spent the last two years as the part of the United Kingdom's covert security operations team, of the Avengers, and of Loki. If it were any other time, she would of faced criminal action for revealing such information, but as the end seemed nigh, the Official Secrets Act didn't seem to matter that much anymore.

Her mother was silent for a while, digesting the information, then she began to openly sob down the line. There was a commotion in the background as her father took the phone from her, now inconsolable mother.

"Franny? What the hell are we supposed to do? Sit here and wait for some dictator to make us his slaves?" Her father sounded angry, she smiled, whilst her mother was of sensitive heart, her father had always preferred aggression.

"I don't know dad. From what I can make sense of, Loki and his army are hell bent on world domination. He believes humans to be a subservient race, and he's determined to make us all kneel. Please dad, take cover somewhere, contact someone, someone who can get all of you underground." Although she had never been extraordinarily close with her siblings, she had always adored her parents, and the thought of any of her family being above-ground when Loki's army arrived turned her stomach.

"And what about you Franny? You'll come with us no?" her father asked, hope inflecting itself in his voice.

"I don't think so dad, I think I'm to stay here. I'm part of the emergency team, I mustn't flee like a coward," her words were scolding, and meant for the Prime Minister who was scuttling around the response room trying to organise his exit.

"You always had courage my girl, courage and honour, it will afford you well Franny. I'd ask you to reconsider, but something in your voice tells me your mind is already made."

Frances was always stubborn and head strong, a trait inherited from her father, a tenacious businessman, and even more insubordinate Lord. Although her family had great riches, her father had worked hard for them all his life, a self-made millionaire who truly appreciated the privileged lifestyle his work had allowed him to lead. He despaired of his other children often, their attachment and obsession with wealth would be their down-fall. Frances was different, as a child she had always preferred the company of the help to that of her siblings, or other affluent heirs. Despite the fact that his eldest daughter was laying down her life in the face of invasion, he felt a certain sense of pride.

"I'll make some phone calls, I'm sure we'll be able to hide somewhere," he paused briefly, "I love you Frances, never forget that you have the love of your mother and father."

Frances couldn't stop the tears from falling, she sobbed as she listened to her father proclaim his love for her, part of her realising that this may be the final time she ever heard his voice. "I love you too dad, and mother, give my love to mother. And to Elisabeth, tell her to stop drinking or she'll need a new liver at the age of thirty," she laughed and so did her father. "And Catherine, I hope Wycombe Abbey makes a lady out of her, and that she'll find a man of noble blood to marry. For William, tell him he'll break many hearts, but he should find one to mend."

Her father chuckled back the tears as he listened to the last words of his daughter, "I must go Frances," he said reluctantly. Frances nodded, "goodbye dad," she whispered as the line went dead.

Tears clouded her eyes as she looked around the room, it had gone deathly silent all of sudden, all eyes transfixed on the wall of televisions at the far end of the room. Only one was showing an image and Frances wiped her tears away to get a better look. She recognised him immediately, Loki Laufeyson in his horned helmet, looking every inch the God that he was. He stood on Stark Tower, at his feet, the crumpled bodies of Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton. Next to him, chained and gagged, stood Tony Stark, Steve Rogers and Thor, his own brother. The Hulk was nowhere to be seen in the picture, Frances wondered if Banner had fled. Beyond Stark Tower, the Chitauri hovered, and underneath them, the remaining citizens of New York knelt.

"Who is broadcasting this?" screamed Ed, breaking the silence.

"It's amateur Sir, it just appeared on the screen," replied the same man who had told of the President's evacuation.

Ed paced, running his hands through his hair, massaging his neck and smoking like his life depended on it. Sound started to come through the speakers that were in every corner of the room, a song that was faintly familiar to Frances, a concerto by Bach that her parents had played avidly when she was younger.

"I am Loki of Asgard, your new ruler," commanded the voice that blared from every speaker in the control room, Bach still played in the background, giving his words an ever more sinister tone.

"I will not stop until every last inch of liberty has been stripped from every man, woman and child of Midgard. Not until each and every one of you kneels before me, in your natural state. Your life of serfdom, begins now," Loki laughed as he stood high above the kneeling citizens of New York city.

A shiver crawled it's way up Frances' spine as she listened to his poisonous words, as she watched her human comrades give up their freedom to a tyrant.

"I proclaim the United States of America to be under my rule. My army is travelling to every corner of this Earth, to take what is rightfully mine. In the mean time, you shall begin to rebuild this city to it's former glory, but instead of a building dedicated to a man in a suit of armour, you shall dedicate buildings to me, to my acumen and spirit."

Frances took another cigarette from Ed, deeply inhaling the smoke to feel the burn at the back of her throat, desperate for any feeling other than fear.

"But a man cannot rule alone, such acts would be unfathomable. No, a man requires a Queen, a soft body to bare heirs, someone to stand by his side whilst the rest of the Earth cowers at his feet. My army will be looking for a Queen, and when they find her, they will bring her to me." Loki paced the top of the Stark building, Gungnir in his hand. The camera zoomed in to his face, and his green eyes stared at it directly. Frances felt her breath catch in her throat as she inhaled more smoke, coughing suddenly. His eyes were his most fearsome features of all, well and truly dead of emotion and piercing to look at.

"Not long now mortals, not long until you are all under my control."


	3. Chapter 3

Very short filler chapter, just to tide you over! Hopefully I can update properly tomorrow with a full length chapter. If you enjoyed reading this, please review, it would make my world.

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Three

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It wasn't before long that Loki's Chitauri army arrived in Britain, it started with a faint rumble that felt like a small earthquake. The noises gradually grew louder, vibrations shaking their way down to the emergency bunker below the House of Commons. Frances sat next to Ed, her M1911 in her hand, caressing it with soft fingertips.

"We need to fight them," she said, not prepared to admit defeat.

"And how do you propose we do that Fran? Send armed civil servants into the streets to shoot at aliens?"

"We gather our weapons, we hit them with everything we've got," she replied, ignoring his sarcasm. Ed sighed, his pistol tucked safely away in his suit pocket, he was still smoking and Frances wondered if he was even aware of the cigarette which appeared to be stuck between his fingers.

"Fran, it is better to stay here, let the army take them on with their tanks," he sucked on the cigarette, blowing smoke into the bunker.

"So we are to sit here like lily-livered cowards whilst some maniacal despot tries to command our country?" she spat, her grip tightening on her handgun.

"Pretty much, yes," he replied.

She huffed, sitting in the bunker whilst the rest of humanity suffered went against all of the principles she held dear. Frances had spent years trying to convince Ed that she wasn't just a pretty face, capable of keeping secrets and doing menial paperwork. She craved the battlefield now more than ever, to finally prove to her boss that she was worthy of something other than the title of assistant. Her mind was made, she would leave the bunker and join Her Majesties finest as they defended the nation against the power-mad creatures that wished to destroy it.

"I'm going," she said as she stood up, straightening out her clothes and tucking her gun into the waist of her jeans.

"For fucks sake Fran, you can't go out their, it's a war-zone, you'll be killed!" shouted Ed, drawing the attention of the others in the room.

"Give me your gun if you are to stay here Edward, I'll have a better chance with two," her voice took on a commanding tone, one that Ed had never heard before. He knew better than to argue with her, and handed over his weapon. "You'll need more ammunition," he suggested, making his way to the back of the bunker and unlocking the weapons vault. Inside he piled up layers of bullets, and a few more guns for safe measure, Frances strapped two extra weapons to her thighs and concealed most of the ammunition across her body.

"Why are you doing this Fran?" asked Ed, he look distressed as he watched her prepare herself.

"What else am I going to do Ed? Stay here until the Chitauri take over, become an obedient lapdog for Loki Laufeyson? Life is nothing without freedom," Frances bent to tie the laces on her boots, praying that Ed wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. For all of her bravado, the thought of entering the battleground that was London terrified her to the very core.

"You have too much honour Frances Booth," sighed Ed, staring at his once faithful assistant as she rose from her crouching position.

"And you have too much fear," she quipped at him proudly, her back straightening. She took a band from her wrist and tied her long, brown curls into a tight bun, forcing her face into a tight smile.

With a squeeze of his shoulder, she exited the weapons vault, passed the men and women cowering in the bunker, and made the ascent into chaos.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry, another rather short chapter, but an important one none the less. Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, your encouragement is wonderful and such a fabulous reward to receive as a writer. I promise, there will be a **lot **more Loki in chapters to come, I just don't want to rush to that because I feel that this story could go somewhere really interesting. Again, if you enjoyed this chapter then please do review, I will try to reply to each of you individually to thank you for your kind words.

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Four

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The sounds of pandemonium grew louder the closer Frances got to ground level, until they reached a deadly pitch upon her arrival at the top of the secluded stairway. Opening the door to exit, she was brought out into the vast main hall, the top of the majestic room blown away by Chitauri weaponry. When she raised her head, she could see the bright blue sky, and the Chitauri fighters zapping through the air. There was no time to waste, she made her way through the hall, and out through the exit at the very end. What lay before her was a scene Frances had never witnessed, a scene worse than any cinematic fictionalisation of the end of days. Part of the Palace of Westminster was on fire, another section crumbled entirely into the ground. The army had taken up Parliament Square, trying their best to defeat the Chitauri fighters, but Frances could tell they were not only terribly outnumbered, but they were also tragically inept. Further on, the London Eye stood proudly, it's carriages blown apart, civilians clinging for their lives. All around was the sound of despair, high-pitched screams and explosions filled the air with their agony.

With a strong hand on her gun, Frances moved discreetly towards the make-shift army base, silently questioning her decision to leave the bunker. Past the gates of the Palace, soldiers ran frantic, shouting orders and firing weapons at the army of aliens that were attempting to colonise the planet.

"What are you doing here girl?" shouted a young man in uniform as he spotted her, his gun firm in his hand.

"I'm Agent Booth, I'm here to help," she replied, flashing him her identification. He seemed suitably pleased to have more able bodies, and waved her through into the makeshift army base that used to be Parliament Square.

"Who is this Private Fielding?" asked a pleasantly plump man, his uniform well-decorated with signs of his triumph.

"Agent Booth, Sir. She's part of the UK division of S.H.I.E.L.D, Sir," he answered, his back straight and standing to attention.

"Step down Private," the man commanded, and Private Fielding marched off.

"Agent Booth? My name is Charles Albern, General for Her Majesty's Armed Forces. I'm sure you're well aware of the situation here so I shan't spend my time explaining," he said, his voice loud and authoritative.

"We watched it from below, Sir. The Prime Minister has evacuated to Antartica," she shouted over the carnage, trying hard to mirror his calm posture and his collected expression. Charles seemed suitably unaffected by the horrors that surrounded him, he had clearly been present in numerous war-zones, though evidently he had never faced an army of aliens. "I am aware, as have much of the monarchy. May I be honest with you Agent Booth?" he questioned, his dark brown eyes searching hers.

"Of course, and you may call me Frances," she responded, at this point there seemed little use for formalities.

"We cannot hold them off much longer, it is only a matter of time until we fall like the others. Their power is too much for us, they fight with technology we are simply unable to match. My men aren't strong enough to defend us from this sort of threat, when we run out of ammunition, I am afraid to say that we will have to surrender," his voice was unattached, seemingly devoid of emotion, undoubtedly he had come to terms with his own mortality.

Frances nodded, peering over his shoulder as a Chitauri aircraft soared overhead, launching a missile straight into the statue of Winston Churchill. She watched as the once great leader crumbled to the ground, as young men fought the Chitauri army with all of their might. Mortal weaponry was useless, and the army didn't have enough man power to hold back the strength of the Chitauri, and one by one a tanker was destroyed.

The alien aircraft circled overhead, their weapons poised and at the ready. Although she had already seem glimpses of the creatures on the television screen, nothing could have prepared her for the horror of seeing them in the flesh. Their skin appeared to be crafted out of something resembling leather, parts of metal stuck out from their shoulders. A terrifying, shrill sound pierced the ear, the Chitauri were evidently communicating with each other, and the noise was enough to make most of the men present cover their ears. As they opened their mouths, they exposed the blackest of teeth, pointed at the edge, their throats as dark as night. Behind her, Charles shouted orders at his men, gunshots fired into the sky, managing to destroy a few Chitauri fighters. But the battle was pointless, they had already won, and as they pointed their weapons towards the army, Frances felt her knees weaken. Her last waking memory was the sound of death, of men screaming for their lives, for their loved ones, for their mothers. And then, there was nothing.


	5. Chapter 5

I felt bad leaving you guys on the last cliff hanger, so here is another one for you. And yes, Loki begins to appear! Please, please take the time to review, I love reading your feedback as it inflates my already large ego. Also, if you don't think I'm writing Loki right, then do let me know. I'd like to be able to get his character spot on, just because I detest reading stories in which the fan's representation of the character is so completely unlike the real character.

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Life During Wartime

Chapter 5

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When she awoke, the first thing Frances noticed was the cold. A creeping kind of cold, the type that froze your blood and caught you unawares. She reluctantly opened her eyes, squinting at the clinical white light that flooded her senses. Her arms were chained above her head and she hung limply, her legs failing to support the weight of her body. On further perusal of the room, she noticed several other bodies chained in the same manner, some were awake, others appeared to be in a state of blissful slumber. The room was large, the walls and floor were all painted white, making it hard to discern the corners. Frances glanced up at her wrists, bound in shackles that dug into her skin, making her bleed. The blood trailed down her arms, and as her senses awakened, so did the pain that the bondage had inflicted upon her. She groaned, trying hard to stand evenly on her feet so as to relieve the pain in her wrists.

It wasn't long before her eyes adjusted to the invasive light of the room, and as she took in the scene in front of her, she noticed familiar faces among the prisoners. There was Charles, and the young Private Fielding, both deep asleep in their confined state, and Frances recognised a few more soldiers from the fight at Parliament Square. She tried to remember how she had ended up in such a predicament, but as she searched the recesses of her memory, there was nothing but emptiness. Her final recollection was of screaming, and the feel of wet grass against her face as she fell to the floor. There was no memory of pain, of being taken prisoner and chained against her will, although this was beyond question the work of the Chitauri.

To her left, there was a young woman in chains. She appeared to be in her late teens, and she was sobbing quietly as she stared at the ground, her wrists were cut badly by the shackles, her face wrinkled with pain.

"Tell me your name," Frances demanded, determined to fight through the pain with distraction.

The girl looked up reluctantly with bloodshot eyes, mascara traces lining her pale face.

"Ta-Tamara," she stuttered nervously. Tamara was an attractive girl, despite her current state, short blonde hair framed her petite features. Frances smiled at her, trying desperately to take her mind, and Tamara's away from the almost consuming pain they both felt.

"I'm Frances, Frances Booth," she introduced herself the best she could in her current state. "What do you remember of being brought here Tamara?"

Tamara continued to cry as she spoke of her ordeal, of how she had collapsed on the streets of Westminster and awoke to an army of Chitauri fighters surrounding her. Her voice broke as she explained how she had been taken on an aircraft, and how after that point she couldn't remember a thing. Frances sighed, she had hoped that the girl could provide more details on their location, but Tamara had proved useless.

"What about you?" the girl asked.

"I remember nothing," Frances stated blankly, turning away from the girl.

All of a sudden, there were sounds of movement from outside the room, a human voice faintly talking. As the door to their prison opened, Frances averted her eyes to the ground, it was better to pretend to be asleep than face the wrath of whatever had walked through that door. Heavy footsteps echoed around the room, the owner of the sound walked with purpose, a confident stride that had Tamara quivering next to Frances.

"Well, you've done a marvellous job Other, I must say," said a voice that Frances remembered vividly. The somewhat British accent invaded her mind, conjuring images of a burning New York city, of a Bach concerto and thousands of kneeling servants. It was a voice that belonged to one man, not really a man at all, Loki Laufeyson.

"Such fine specimens of humanity...although some on the larger side," he laughed viciously, Frances grimaced, almost certain he was referring to Charles.

"And such beauty, I often thought only Asgard produced such wondrously enchanting females, I realise now my ignorance," his footsteps drew closer with every word, until they appeared to be only centimetres away. Frances clenched her eyes shut, too terrified to open them, to see the face of the God that had destroyed everything she had ever known.

"Yes, such fine specimens," he was in front of her now, she could feel his presence and he was entirely too close. She fought hard not to snarl, and although her fear consumed her, she would have liked nothing more than to spit in the face of the creature that stood before her.

"Look at me," he said, his voice light and almost jovial, nothing like the commanding tone that she had heard through the speakers in the emergency room. She remained still, if she kept her eyes shut for long enough perhaps he would move on to Tamara.

A cold hand grabbed her by the throat, forcing her face up to meet his. Her heart pounded in her chest, his hand was firm and pressed callously against her windpipe. "Look at me," he said again, a more sinister tone dominating his voice. Slowly she opened her eyes, and when she took in the sight of him inches from her face, her breath caught in her throat as he released it from his frozen touch.

He was menacing, that much was certain. His hair was slicked and long, black as the abyss Frances had seen in the mouths of the Chitauri. Cuts riddled his face and his green eyes shone with the jubilation of winning a war. He grinned slightly, showing a full set of meticulously white teeth, the grin accentuated some of the wrinkles around his eyes although he certainly didn't appear to be old. Aesthetically he was not repulsive to look at, but his actions, his egotism and jealousy made him most unattractive.

"That's better," he chuckled menacingly. "What do they call you, mortal?" he questioned.

"Frances," she spat at him, her eyes burning with anger.

"Frances, how delectable," his voice dripped with sin and her stomach turned as she felt his breath against her face. She noticed that he was no longer wearing his horned helmet, in fact he was dressed in the most peculiar fashion. He wore mortal attire, a white button down shirt covered in blood stains, a black jacket with a green scarf thrown over his shoulders.

Loki pulled away suddenly, turning his back to her swiftly, his coat floating through the air with his movements. He whispered in a low voice to the Chitauri fighter at his side, too low to make out exactly what words were spoken. The Chitauri aggressor moved towards her, and her heart sunk with the realisation that she could soon be facing the final curtain. Instead of butchering her where she hung, the creature unshackled her from the ceiling and she fell ungracefully to the floor, her legs still too weak to support her. She watched Tamara cry as the Chitauri dragged her from the room, her fate now in the hands of a deranged demi-God.


	6. Chapter 6

I am truly terrified of writing Loki terribly, so please tell me if the Loki in this story is nothing like the one from the movie-verse. Just as a warning, this story is about to take a very dark, explicit route, so if you're squeamish and the idea of Loki and BDSM makes you sick...then run for the hills! I promise though, this will be a romance story, I just have a strange idea of romance (_for example, my favourite romance movie is 9 1/2 Weeks). _What can I say, I just a love a brooding, torturous romance! So here is another update for you, thank you so much for the reviews and keep them coming!

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Six

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As the Chitauri dragged her from the white prison, Frances blacked out, and when she woke she found herself in a plush, well-made bed. Stirring from her slumber, she stretched out mindlessly before her senses rushed back to her. Bolting upright, she took in her surroundings. The room was well decorated, a far cry from the blank canvas of the room full to the brim with captives. She sat in a four poster bed, the sheets soft to the touch, inviting her to sink into their depths and curl up forever. Kicking back the sheets, she found that she'd been dressed in a green silk gown, one that accentuated every feature of her body. She could not shake the feeling of dread that took hold of her, an awareness that she was indeed a part of some kind of sick game.

Frances rose from the bed, finding herself stronger than she was before, she managed to stand quite easily. Her toes curled into the sumptuous carpeting as she balanced herself, taking a few steady steps forward to test her walking abilities. There was a fireplace crackling in the centre of the room, filling the bedroom with a delicious warmth that made the hairs on her arm stand on edge. Her solitude was broken with the opening of the door, the arrival of Loki Laufeyson, still dressed in mortal attire, this time a simple white shirt free from bloodstains, and a pair of tailored black trousers. Frances froze in fear as he entered the room, closing the door carefully behind him. He turned to face her, a smile playing upon his lips.

"You have woken," he stated, his eyes taking in every inch of her. Under his gaze she felt self conscious, suddenly aware of her clothing, of her hair that freely cascaded down her back. There was a mysterious glint in his eyes, one that Frances couldn't make sense of. They looked less empty than before, in fact he appeared to her a lot less threatening than he had upon their previous meeting.

The fire crackled ferociously as Loki seated himself next to it, in an opulent crimson chair of leather. "Will you sit Frances?" he asked, although clearly there was only one acceptable answer. She inhaled a deep breath and walked anxiously towards him, to the other decadent chair across from him. Never in her life had she felt so fragile, so utterly out of control, like putty in his hands, her fate depended on his warped mind.

As she sat she folded her arms in her lap and stared at the silky green material of the dress, clearly expensive and clearly meant for a purpose. "Do not look so afraid human, I do not intend to hurt you," he stated, his voice softer than she had heard before. Frances raised her eyes, taking in the man before her. This could not be the same Loki Laufeyson that had destroyed the world and intended to dictate it's future.

"What game are you playing with me?" she asked, venom inflicting itself upon her tone. He laughed softly, shaking his head at her forward questioning.

"I play no games, Frances," her name dripped from his tongue, sending a cold shiver down her spine despite the heat radiating from the fire.

"Then what is the meaning of all this," she waved her arms around the room, hoping for any answer he may give to explain her current whereabouts.

"Simple human luxuries Frances, I believe you creatures appreciate decadence," he replied, eyes focused on her intently.

"Why have you dressed me so? Am I to become your bride? To stand beside the Mighty Loki as he crushes the human race into his personal lapdog?" The questions fell from her lips, her mind had a thousand questions she wanted to ask him, but what she craved most of all was escape.

He laughed even louder, a booming sound that reverberated off the walls and terrified her into silence. "Tell me mortal," he began to ask, "how do you know of my plans to take a bride?"

"I saw you," she whispered, her eyes downcast.

He was silent for a moment, before asking her, "where did you see me Frances?".

He hand inquisitively moved closer to her, now perching on the edge of his chair as she replied, "New York, as you stood on Stark Tower."

"And how, pray tell dear human, did you see me?" Loki was full of intrigue, to his knowledge, his speech atop Stark Tower was only broadcast to affiliates of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Frances hesitated, wondering if revealing her government connections was really the best plan of action. But it was pointless being deceitful to the God of lies, so she spoke the truth, and spoke it honourably.

"I work for S.H.I.E.L.D."

Loki's smile stretched further on his lips at her revelation, baring even more of his pearly white teeth. He rose from his seat and stood closer to the fire, the flames dancing shadows upon his face. "Tell me Frances, did you enjoy the show?" he asked, clearly referring to his parading of the weakened Avengers in front of the world.

"You sicken me," she whispered, staring at him with her blue eyes. His smile faded as he raised one arm to lean upon the mantelpiece. "I'm sure in time you'll learn to stomach me," he murmured into the fire.

"I could never stomach an evil as unhinged as yours," she fumed, finding courage somewhere to stand up to the man who had taken her prisoner.

Loki pushed himself from the mantel and rushed toward her, his familiar icy palm finding its way back to her throat. His face was inches from hers as he dragged her out of the seat, she stayed defiant through his display of aggression, refusing to show any sign of being fazed. With his hand still wrapped tightly around her throat, he paced the room, sizing her up with his piercing green eyes.

"You crave subjugation Frances, I can see it in your eyes. Have you ever had a man dominate you before?" he spoke wickedly, fire burning in his cold eyes. She stayed silent as he threw the words at her as if they were weapons designed to slice through her resolve.

"Fuck you," she creaked as his grip grew harder.

He laughed loud and heartily, throwing his head back. When his eyes met hers again, they were cloudy. "You will have it Frances, that I promise you."


	7. Chapter 7

Here is the next chapter, I apologise if it's dreadful, I am currently at work, and I wrote this at work - and I work behind a bar so I had to keep stopping halfway through sentences. But how great it is to have a job where I can write fan fiction on my laptop no? As always, please review and tell me what you think. I love hearing from you wonderful people!

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Life During Wartime

Chapter 7

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Loki dropped his grip on her throat, letting her body fall to the floor, a heap of green silk and vulnerability. She curled her body, tears falling from her eyes as she tried desperately to regain her breathing. He towered above her, an inquisitive look on his face as he beheld the scene in front of him.

"You humans are all the same," he began to speak. "You are full of fighting words, of scorn and acrimony. But in the end, you always fall." He began to pace again, as she clutched the dress in her hands, trying to control her emotions and stop the tears from exposing her weakness.

"Such faint heartedness, you're ruining the illusion Frances, here I was thinking you were so strong," he sniggered, ostensibly pleased with the show in front of him. Frances was never one to cower in the face of adversity, but in this room with him, she felt her strength crumble. "Get up," he commanded her, kneeling to grab hold of her arm. His strength pulled her from the floor, and she was a snivelling disarray standing before him. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, forcing the tears back in, compelling herself to meet his searching gaze. There was pain behind his eyes, years of emotional abuse evident in a single glance, and when he smiled at her for what seemed like the hundredth time, it didn't quite meet his eyes.

"That's better isn't it? Although I did quite like you at my feet," his voice was almost a violation, designed to make her submissive.

"Men with daddy issues always do like women at their feet," she responded, the last of her tears drying quickly on her cheeks.

The sting of his slap was enough to make her question her defiance, she could taste the blood that pooled in her mouth and spat some out onto the carpet. Her ears were still ringing when he began to speak again, "you will learn not to defy me Frances, it will be most unpleasant for you if that sharp tongue speaks out of turn."

"Why not kill me?" she asked, blood covering her teeth.

"Why spoil the fun? You are much more useful alive than dead, think of this as somewhat of a personal project. It always fascinated me, how long it would take to get a human to submit to someone so devoutly, so all encompassing that they no longer gave consideration to their own pitiful existence," Loki's word terrified her, he sounded like a true psychopath with the firelight dancing upon his face.

"And you intend to make me your project?" she questioned.

Loki looked thoughtful, stepping closer to her, running a cold hand over the cheek he had previously abused. "Indeed, and what an exemplar project you will make," he soothed.

The feel of his hand, now soft and caring where it was once fierce and remorseless, sent shivers of terror to her very core. "Why me?" she asked, blood still forming pools in her mouth, the coppery taste becoming almost commonplace.

Loki's green eyes stared at her mournfully, "you have such spirit Frances, it would be an honour to destroy it."

Frances spat more blood on the floor, the pain had abated somewhat, that or she was slowly becoming numb. He smirked at her as the last drops hits the carpet, still caressing her cheek. "I'm sure you don't enjoy bleeding Frances, not many mortals do. Keep yourself in line and we could avoid more bloodshed," he spoke softly, a somewhat sympathetic tone inflecting itself in his voice, yet his words were sinister and held threat.

Specks of blood riddled the green dress, and Loki looked somewhat displeased as he took in her condition. His hand touched the fabric, holding it between his fingers and rubbing, meticulously committing every sensation to his memory. "Such a beautiful dress, I picked it myself you know? Only the finest attire for my pet," his eyes were hazy as he spoke, like he were trapped in a dream.

Frances shuddered at his touch, she took a few steps back, desperate to get away from him, but he shadowed her movements, moving closer to her every time she stepped away. His face was dark, partially obscured by the dying embers of the fire that once roared savagely. Her back hit the wall before she could escape his enveloping gaze, and she turned her head to the side, determined not to meet his eyes that were muddied with power, with lust.

"Do not act so ungrateful Frances, I have afforded you a great opportunity. To stand by my side at the top of world, whilst the rest of your wretched kind kneel at our feet," he murmured, his face so close to hers that she could feel the words on her bruised cheek as he spoke them. Softly, he used the hand he had wielded as a weapon to turn her face to his, his eyes were focused solely on her lips. She scowled at him as another hand found its way to her hair, stroking the supple tendrils with a gentleness that seemed so unlike him. He was impossibly close, every inch of his body pressed firmly against hers, so close that she was certain she could feel his heart beat. Her stomach convulsed and she fought hard to hold back her revulsion as he pushed his nose into her hair, deeply inhaling the scent.

"Yes," he said, "you'll do perfectly Frances."


	8. Chapter 8

Another short chapter for you, not entirely happy with this chapter to be honest but I thought I'd post it to get your perception. All my work is finished for this week now so I can spend a good time updating and writing longer chapters. Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews. Also, I'm incredibly worried that Frances is a Mary-Sue-esque character so I'm going to spend longer building her character in the next few chapters.

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Eight

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Loki left the room suddenly, one minute his eyes so fogged with lust that Frances worried he might take her then and then, and the next rushing from the room without a second thought. Her forehead was moist with perspiration, her breathing hot and heavy. She felt disgusting as she stood in the blood stained dress, back firmly against the wall.

The fire was now a dim glow, a shadow of its former glory, much like her. Not too long ago she had been prepared to fight, heavily armed and thirsty for Chitauri blood. Now she stood in the barely lit room, dressed like a common whore who was preparing to submit to a misogynist.

Steeling herself, she shuffled to the door, the dress making normal movement a difficulty. Her hand grasped the handle, but as she tried to open it, she realised it was locked. A foolish moment of wishful thinking on her part, of course he would of locked the door, rendering any escape impossible. She cursed her stupidity and ambled to the bed, seating herself on the soft mattress, appreciating the comfort it provided.

Sleep didn't come to her, and after what seemed like an age, she gave up hope of it ever arriving. The room was cloaked in darkness, although Frances was sure that somewhere outside her prison, light shone brightly. Her stomach rumbled hungrily, and although she was still consumed by a sickening feeling of dread, her body craved food. Frances wondered if Loki would return, and although the thought of him reappearing made her shudder, she desperately need sustenance. Time didn't seem to exist any more, and every moment in the room felt like a lifetime. Her dry mouth and carnivorous stomach only prolonged the experience, and the longer she waited, the less able she was to hold back a creeping depression. She was trapped, unarmed and at the mercy of a God who had taken a peculiar interest in her.

All of her life, she had never considered herself to be that interesting, never really an outsider but not a loud team player, she had always had friends but was never the most popular. The past few years working as part of the security operation had brought her out of her shell and awoken a ferociousness inside her that she didn't even know existed. Frances was rarely shy, but she didn't possess the same social finesse that her sisters appeared to have, but working as part of a top secret agency that spanned both government and military, she had learned how to project a certain air of confidence into her daily interactions. A lot of her bravado could be attributed to a lack of confidence she had felt since a child. Uncertain of her place in the world, she had always wanted to make something for herself, away from the confines of her families wealth. As a teenager she had immersed herself in literature, finding solace in the warm words that jumped from the page, the fantasy worlds of the writers imagination. Studying Literature was an obvious choice for someone so enamoured by the written word, and so was a career in publishing. After slogging away at unsatisfying, unsuccessful internships in the literary world, she had applied for the position of personal assistant to Edward Langley, a rash decision that had changed her entire world.

At first, her role was simply administrative, but as Edward learnt of her heritage and character, he had begun to trust her, giving her jobs a far cry from the standard role of personal assistant. In part, the progression in her role was down to her families wealth and reputation, and although Frances wasn't comfortable to ride on the coat tails of her parents, it was satisfying to be given more responsibility. But it was a responsibility and an opportunity that had led to her current predicament, locked in a windowless room, being held prisoner by Loki Laufeyson whilst he crushed the life out of the world.

An unmeasurable amount of time later and the sound of a key in the door shook Frances from her daydream. The door creaked open and her heart began to pound, scrambling to the top of the bed and bringing her knees to her stomach in a some what protective move. Light burst into the room, too painful to look at she threw an arm over her eyes and kept quiet as a figure entered.

"The fire went out," he said calmly. Loki, back to torture her further.

"If you do not wish to kill me Loki, you need to feed me," she spoke quietly, her mind focused on the idea of eating something.

The fire roared suddenly and Loki closed the door behind him, "I will feed you, but you can wait a little longer can't you Frances?"


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you so much for all your wonderful reviews. Here is the next chapter, the ending is slightly cheesy I thought but what the hell, this is fan-fiction, not something I'd actually send to a publishing house. Anyway, as always, review and let me know if you loved it or hated it. Though if you hated it, at least make your review constructive.

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Nine

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The heat of the room and Loki's presence was making her sweat profusely, he sat at the foot of the bed looking pensive. She wondered what he was thinking, no doubt plotting some sort of torturous game designed to make her subservient.

He licked his lips before he spoke again, "you will call me Master, do you understand?"

She scoffed, like hell she would.

"You will call me Master, or else you will face punishment," he spoke again, not making eye contact with her. Frances mind reeled at the thought of his punishment, perhaps he'd starve her, even worse he'd force himself upon her.

"Now tell me Frances, what will you call me?" he asked, a smile breaking out on his face. She stared at him as she spoke the word, and if looks could kill, Loki would have died in that room with the fire igniting his face. He chuckled softly, clearly pleased with her submission. Frances was ravenous for food, and if getting fed meant playing his game then unfortunately it was something she would have to grin and bear.

"You're learning quickly Frances, I am quite impressed with your progress. You will find that when the mood strikes me, I can be quite generous," he smirked, and his eyes finally met hers. Frances was overwhelmed by his stare, somewhere between hatred and adoration, nonchalance and obsession. His eyes had turned a murky shade of brown, tinted with red at the edges, fogged with emotion and dominance.

"Do you think I could have some food now...Master?" she smiled at him, a move that went against her better judgement. She was scared that he would see straight through her act, realise that she would never truly give herself to him and that she was merely saying words he wanted to hear. Someone had once told her that it was better to act than to fight, that to protect ones self, one must put on a show instead of giving in to the egotistical nature of man. And that's what she would do, Loki was her audience and the room was her stage, she would act as if her life depended upon it, and when the audience rose to give her a standing ovation, when the lights dimmed and the curtain fell, she would have the blood of Loki Laufeyson on her hands, and she would revel in the thought of having dominated her captor.

"Indeed, I believe you have deserved at least a crust of bread, I will have one of my slaves bring something to you immediately." And with that, he vanished from the room.

Sometime later the door opened again and she openly gasped when she realised who it was. His blonde hair was dirty, and it framed his bruised face. In his hands he carried a sparse plate, Loki really wasn't lying when he spoke of a crust of bread. His ankles were in shackles, as were his hands and he shuffled into the room looking utterly broken. She was unsure how to approach him, knowing who he was.

"Thor?" she asked hesitantly. He noticeably winced at the sound of her voice and turned his back to her, placing the plate on a table in the centre of the room.

"That is my name," he responded, and his voice was broken. Frances rose from the bed and made her way to stand behind him, her mind racing with questions.

"What has he done to you?" she whispered softly, not wanting to alarm him in his evidently fragile state.

"Is it not obvious?" he retorted, his large hands clenching. Nervously, Frances began to introduce herself, desperately trying to gain his trust.

"My name is Frances. I'm associate of Nick Fury, Edward Langley's assistant."

Thor's shoulders relaxed somewhat as he turned to face her, she tried to hold in a sigh as she observed him. His dirty hair fell into his eyes, they held no sparkle, no ray of light or sign of humanity. "Frances Booth?" he questioned, staring at the floor.

"Yes. How did you know?" she asked, unsure of how Thor was aware of her.

"The man of Iron spoke of you often, of your family, as did Fury. What brings you to such a place?" he asked, making eye contact with her finally.

Frances sighed as she spoke, tears welling in her eyes, "I can't remember, one moment we were fighting his army in London, the next I was here. What is this place?"

As he spoke, she grabbed the bread from the plate and devoured it, her stomach moaning in appreciation. "A ship of sorts, it once belonged to S.H.I.E.L.D, but if fell, just like everything else."

The helicarrier, one of Tony Stark's greatest achievements now belonged to Loki and his army. Frances wondered how Loki had managed to take it, the last time she had spoken to Fury she had assumed he was on board the aircraft, and perhaps he still was.

"What does Loki want with you Frances?"

"I'm his project," she said, voice tinged with sarcasm.

Thor grimaced and shook his head, "he is a mad soul my brother."

Frances turned from him and drew closer to the fire, her mind searching for the right words to say to the thunder God. "What happened to him to make him so...evil?" she asked.

"Loki is not evil," Thor scorned, his brother had chained him, turned him into a slave but still he defended him.

"I beg to differ, he's hell-bent on destroying the world, on crushing the human race and living out the rest of his days as some kind of dictator."

"Loki was always the jealous kind," he replied, and silently he made his way out of the room. Frances turned and watched him leave, crushed and utterly dejected, no doubt returning to carry out more of Loki's orders.

She watched as the fire crackled, her hunger somewhat satiated but nowhere close to being full. All around her was the feeling of emptiness, an all consuming type of feeling that made her long for something else, something to drive it away. On bended knees she hesitantly pushed one hand into the flame, holding it long enough to burn, long enough to get a feeling other than loneliness. Pulling it out, she admired her handiwork, the way the fire had crept along her skin and charred her with it's heat.

"What are you doing?" his voice demanded from behind her. She ignored him, sitting down and pressing her face into the warmth of the tiles that framed the fireplace.

"I asked you a question mortal," he spat, "what are you doing?"

He was beside her now, crouching down and grabbing her burning hand in his cold one.

"Fuck you," she mumbled under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear. She clenched her teeth, bracing herself for a slap that never arrived, and when she opened them he was still caressing her hand with his own. The fire crackled and snapped next to them, and as he pressed his lips to her palms she felt her eyelids close, sleep had finally arrived.


	10. Chapter 10

This chapter is pure porn. Just to warn you. Review, review, review!

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Life During Wartime

Chapter Ten

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Frances had never been a prolific sleeper and today was no different, she awoke from her slumber after what felt like ten minutes, Loki still on bended knee stroking the life back in to her hand.

"Why must you hurt yourself so?" he asked, eyes trained on the task in front of him

She chuckled softly, brain still fogged with sleep, "why must you hurt everyone?" she retorted back at him.

"It is not my intention Frances, to hurt people, but something that I seem to do regardless."

"You've killed thousands Loki, burned cities to the ground, enslaved your brother and his friends and kept me prisoner for some ungodly reason, you have no humanity Loki, don't waste your time trying to woo me."

Loki kept his face straight as the rage rumbled through him, although Frances did indeed interest him, there was no need to woo her. It wasn't her heart that he wanted to steal, it was her life force, her very essence, and to crush it he wouldn't need to use sweet talk. He didn't literally want to kill her, just make her completely and entirely his, until there was nothing of her own personality left.

"I don't wish to make you love me Frances, I wish you to fear me, depend on me until there is not a single part of you that can live without me," he spoke meticulously, his stare still focused on her almost healed hand.

"And what if I don't fear you Loki? What then?"

"You will fear me, you are mortal, and mortals always fear that which they cannot understand."

His words were drenched in the conceited egotism only a God could muster. She felt the life return to her hand, his cooling touch had healed her where she had only wanted pain, something to rid her of the empty sensation which had come to dominate every waking moment. He sat opposite her on the floor, seemingly unaffected by the flames which were beginning to make her sweat again.

"You must be washed Frances," he muttered, nostrils flaring to inhale her scent.

Frances shivered at the thought of being bathed by such a monster, of being completely helpless whilst he washed her. "I'd rather rot, Master," she replied, sarcasm inflicting itself upon her tone.

"Whilst you are in my presence you shall be clean, I will not take a filthy girl and make her mine."

He stood abruptly and pulled her with him, a firm hand snaking its way around her waist. In a few quick motions he had guided her out of the room and down a long, winding corridor. Outside of her chambers the air was cold and she was slightly grateful for the mercy it provided from the thick heat of the fire filled bedroom. It wasn't long before she was taken into another room, with a light as clinical as the one where she had been chained. In the corner there was a deep bath fixed to the wall, and Frances wondered whether it had always been on the helicarrier, or whether it was something Loki had magicked into existance.

"Take off your dress," he commanded, shutting the door behind them.

Frances stared at the bath, too frightened to follow his command. With a flick of his hand the light dimmed, candles appeared to each side of her, guiding the way to the bath which was now surrounded by golden light.

"Take off your dress or I shall do it for you," he breathed in her ear, his body flush against hers.

With shaking hands, Frances reached behind her to pull down the zip, but her movements could only get her so far. His breath tickled her earlobe as he pushed her hair to one side and grabbed a hold of the zip himself. Slowly, dangerously, he pulled down, exposing far too much of her flesh for her to feel comfortable. With every inch he exposed, a groan escaped from his mouth, a frozen hand pressing upon the skin that Frances was desperate to cover. When the zip reached its end at her lower back, hands held her shoulders, pushing down the straps of the dress until the garment fell from her entirely.

"Wonderous," he breathed.

Her body shook as she felt the hardness of his body pressed against hers, tears welled in her eyes and she closed them tightly, trying to concentrate on anything but the man behind her.

Loki pushed her towards the bath and she stumbled slightly, refusing to open her eyes. With a guiding hand upon her shoulder, he stopped her just as she reached the edge of the tub and turned her to face him.

"Watch me," he demanded, reaching icy fingers to pry her eyelids open. Loki grinned as she glared at him, her body deadly still, eyes watery. In a few sharp movements Loki had rid himself of clothing and stood proudly before her, soaking up the horrified look upon her face. Although he wasn't as muscular as his brother, he stood just as powerfully. His body was slim but strong and Frances had no doubt in her mind that if he advanced upon her, she wouldn't be able to fight him. He stood tall, and although Frances was no shrinking violet, he had a good four inches on her. She didn't dare look below the waist, what lay beyond there was of no interest to her, although she couldn't stop the tiny part of her mind from wondering.

"Get in Frances," he spoke, smirking at her evilly. There was simply no way of escaping, even if she could overpower Loki for just one instant, long enough to get out of the room, then where would she flee too? A naked girl upon Loki's helicarrier would sure garner some attention, there was no way to fight him, no scenario in which she came out on top, so she submitted and placed one foot in the bathtub. Loki was not long behind her, dragging her down into the warm depths of the water.

Frances lay still as Loki wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his wet, hard body. "You've needed a bathing ever since you stepped foot on this ship," he spoke, almost insultingly into her ear. She trembled underneath his firm grip, terrified at what he might do next.

"Filthy, from head to toe," he moaned, one hand moving to rest upon her thigh. He leant up slightly and reached over to acquire some soap, lathering it in his hands behind her. Loki began on her shoulders, massaging them gently, watching the soapy bubbles gather on her back and in her hair. The pure white of the soap created the perfect contrast upon her tanned skin, and he watched in awe as the tension visibly faded from her body.

"You're enjoying this, don't deny it," he said, almost laughing. "It's ok Frances, you don't have to be ashamed."

Frances cursed him silently as she felt her body relax into his touch, betraying her every wish to stay strong and not give in to him. His fingers worked her roughly, his hands getting faster, massaging circles on her shoulders. She groaned softly before she could catch herself and his breath hitched in his throat, fingers stopping their ministrations to slide down her back. Slowly, careful, he pawed at the skin under her arms, almost touching her breasts but never quite making his way there. And as time went on, his touches grew lower, until he was pressing them firmly over the curves of her stomach, massaging the soft flesh. Frances grew self conscious, never was she a slim woman, but she wasn't fat by any stretch of the mile. Loki's touch was intimate and pleasurable and no matter how much she despised him, in that moment she was willing to give herself to him, completely.

"I knew you'd come around Frances, you humans aren't that difficult to control," he whispered, his voice sending sensations to places where she knew they shouldn't trespass.

"I hate you," she retorted, leaning in to his touch like a kitten being stroked by its owner.

"And I you," he replied, his hands now creeping round her stomach to caress her thighs. She quivered, wanting to break away from his touch that was making her feel things that sickened her. This way Loki, Loki spreading her thighs apart, Loki snaking his way closer to her core, Loki rubbing the soft flesh of her inner thigh, Loki moving his hands higher to touch her in her most intimate of areas.

As his fingers ghosted across her lips, she bucked her hips into his hand, desperate for more contact.

"And you thought you would be able to resist. Frances Booth, the girl who thought she would be able to conquer her Master," his words were doing nothing to relieve the tension that pooled in her stomach. Part of her felt ashamed, but a larger part was frenzied and shockingly turned on by his actions, by the hand that roughly stroked her.

"Fuck you," she whispered as she melted into his hand, one finger circling her entrance. Behind her she was certain he was smiling at her words of defiance and although her body betrayed her, her words would always fight him. Without further warning he pushed inside, eliciting a gasp from her throat. Her eyes were bright and burning with lust, her mind and sense of fear abandoned, the only thing she could think about was how she wanted more of him. More heat, more hands, more touch, more friction. She spread her legs further, draping one over the side of the bath, opening herself perfectly to his touch.

"Look how much you want this," another finger joined the party, making her cry wildly. Her head was leant upon his shoulder and he took the opportunity the nuzzle on the flesh of her neck.

"You crave this Frances, your bravado does nothing to appease the fire that roars inside of you. You want to be devoured, to be dominated, to be ruled," another finger now, stretching her until she howled in pleasurable pain.

"And you shall be, in every way possible."

His fingers worked her with enthusiasm, his thumb over her clitoris, bringing her to the brink of arousal. It wasn't long before she came on his hand, her screams piercing the air, beads of sweat dripping from her forehead and pooling between her breasts. As her orgasm hit, he bit down upon her neck, hard enough to draw tiny flecks of blood to the surface.

"Interesting Frances, most interesting."


	11. Chapter 11

Oh wow. It's been forever since I updated, but I've received so many great reviews that I thought I should reward them by reviving this fic. This chapter is pure pornography, and I can't write smut very well. You have been warned.

Also, I would love to hear some ideas from you guys as to where I should take this story, what you would like to read etc.  
My muse is busy writing a strange Game of Thrones/Thor crossover story at the moment, hence why this chapter is just sex.

Thank you for reading :)

* * *

**Life During Wartime**

_Chapter 11_

* * *

They had been in the bath for so long that the water had gone from swelteringly hot to luke warm, Loki still lay behind her, his hands possessively gripping her thighs. Frances lay deathly still, too confused and frightened to make any sort of movement. The setting seemed too surreal, like a hazy recollection of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, Frances couldn't seem to properly comprehend what Loki had done to her. Her neck felt sore, her body weak after the intense orgasm she'd experienced at the hands of the man that sickened her.

She felt a cool pair of lips press themselves to the sore spot on her neck and her stomach gave an anxious flip. "You are mine," he whispered in her ear. She turned her head away from him and gritted her teeth together, trying to reign in some of the anger she felt. He had forced himself upon her, touched her in the most intimate of ways, and here he was telling her that she was essentially nothing more than his play thing. Although the thought of being reduced to a sexual slave went against everything she had ever fought for, she couldn't help the pang of desire that rushed through her body as his breath tickled her ear. Behind her, he was all wet, sticky, solid muscle, his arms encircled her strongly and pulled her even closer to his body.

"Tell me you're mine," he asked, his voice taking on a desperate tone. She stayed silent, her mind focused on trying to distract herself from the way he felt behind how. One hand left her thigh and pulled roughly on her hair, forcing her to tilt her head back onto his shoulder. She gasped as she was tugged back, her back arching, he laughed softly.

"Tell me," he whispered as his other hand stroked up her body to cup her breast.

Still, she said nothing. He took her right nipple between his fingers and squeezed, eliciting a shriek from her lips. "That hurts you fucking asshole," she shouted as she struggled in his arms.

"Tell me," he repeated.

"Never," she mumbled as he continued his assault on her other nipple.

His teeth nipped at her neck, he dragged them over the mark he had made earlier and the pain was almost too much for Frances to bare. "Fuck you!" she screamed. In a sudden movement he slid out from under her, her back hitting the bottom of the bathtub. He straddled her, his hands gripping her wrists as he pushed her under the water.

"You will learn to respect me Frances," he commanded as she struggled against him. After a few seconds he released his grip on her hands and she emerged from the water, coughing, tears streaming from her eyes. He looked at her with an empty gaze, his eyes showing no emotion. He sat back and stared at her blankly, she attempted to cover her breasts with her hands, suddenly feeling self-conscious. As expected, he dragged her hands away as soon as she moved to cover herself, leaving her exposed to his eyes.

"I wish you wouldn't fight me Frances, it'll only be more painful for you in the long run," he said, his tongue slowly licking his lips.

"Just say you're mine, I'll give you everything you desire, you will be my Queen," he continued, a hand stroking her face.

"I want to go home," she said calmly, staring at him directly.

A flash of pain danced across his eyes for a split second, so quickly that Frances wasn't sure if she had seen it or imagined it. "Frances, I highly doubt you have a home left," he said coldly, his gaze focused on her body.

She glared at him, knowing that he was probably right, "thanks to you," she spat.

He ignored her, seemingly too interested in her body to listen to the vitriol she had to spew at him. "I'm going to fuck you Frances," he spoke, his voice expressing his most carnal desires. Frances shuddered slightly and shut her eyes, if she tried hard enough perhaps she could make all of this go away. A cold hand snaked it's way down her body, ghosting over the curls that framed her sex. Two fingers entered her swiftly and she groaned, Loki moaned as he jammed his fingers in and out. "So wet for me Frances, all that fighting and still your body betrays the vicious words that fall from your lips," he said seductively, entering a third finger, making her mouth fall open.

As his fingers pumped in and out of her, he leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss. He plundered her mouth with his tongue, the kiss was another display of the dominance he had over her. With his skilled fingers bringing her close to orgasm, his lips owned her completely and she couldn't help but surrender to the overwhelming sensations of pleasure as he rubbed a thumb over her clit.

Without warning he withdrew his hand and broke the kiss, she mewled and writhed in the water, desperate for more contact. "Look at you Frances, where is the strong willed girl now?" he taunted as she bucked her hips.

"God I hate you, I hate you, I hate you," she chanted, closing her eyes.

Loki gripped her thighs and spread them wide, "you are mine Frances, tell me you're mine," he said as he pointed his erection towards her opening. Her eyes opened wide as he slid in slowly, "fuck," she groaned.

"Tell me Frances," he shouted as he slid further inside her, inch by inch.

He was so big that Frances was sure he'd tear her apart, she looked down at where they were connected and she groaned. Loki was half buried in her, sweat dripped from his brow as he tried to control himself. Although he wanted to dominate her, own her completely, he didn't want to tear her, he wanted to open her up slowly to take all of him.

Frances spread herself even wider for him, her eyes still enraptured with the sight of Loki slowly entering her body. After a few minutes, Loki drove himself to the hilt, completely sheathing himself in Frances' wet heat. She panted, her hands gripping on to Loki's strong shoulders as he began to move inside her. He went slow at first, giving her time to get adjusted to his size. When she began to move against him, he began to increase his rhythm.

The water splashed around them as Loki grabbed onto her hips and fucked her for all he was worth. He fucked her so hard it was almost violent, his fingers would definitely leave bruises on her hips and she doubted she'd be able to walk properly tomorrow. But none of those thoughts really mattered much right now, with his cock rutting in and out of her body at a pace that was almost maddening, all she could think of was how in this moment she well and truly belonged to him.

Loki grabbed her ass and tilted her upwards slightly, from this position he was somehow able to fuck her more deeply than before. He angled his hips in just the right way that he touched something inside of her that made her scream, "fuck, Loki, please," she panted, her hands leaving his shoulder to stroke her own breasts.

"Do you like that Frances?" he asked with shaky breath, his thrusts increasing.

She tilted her back and dragged a hand down to her clitoris, desperate for release.

"Make yourself come France," Loki demanded as he pumped her vigorously.

Frances stroked her clit manically, her other hand finding it's way to Loki's neck to pull him down for a kiss. Loki smiled, a real smile as he kissed her softly.

"Tell me," he whispered against her lips.

She groaned as her orgasm finally arrived, she constricted all around him, drawing a loud moan from his lips as his release found him.

"I'm yours."


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry this is such a short update, but I just wanted to get something posted! I'm going to work more on this over the next week or so and hopefully have a LONG update for you. Seriously, I'd love to hear your ideas as to where to go with this fic - all suggestions, prompts etc are welcome! Thank you for your continued support :)

* * *

**Life During Wartime**

****Chapter Twelve

* * *

Her back hurt, that was the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes. The water had been drained from the bathtub and she was alone, naked and alone. She sat up abruptly, moving to cover her body but upon realising the room was empty she conceded that there was not much point. The candles still flickered, dancing shadows on the white walls, illuminating the room. A towel was folded at the end of the tub, Frances heaved herself up and wrapped the fluffy material around her. She was completely dry so the towel only served to cover her naked flesh, and she absently wondered how long she had been asleep. At least Loki had done her the kindness of draining the water instead of leaving her to drown. She shuddered as she remembered what they had done, the words that had tumbled from her lips, her brain trying to keep them in but her body committing the deepest betrayal. What had made her say them? Perhaps it was the torturous pleasure he had inflicted upon her, a pleasure so great it had wiped away all traces of her character. Or indeed, maybe she was his, could there be a small part of her that so desperately wanted to be dominated by him? Frances shook away the thought, the idea itself was preposterous, laughable to say the least.

She stepped out of the tub, unsure of where to go, surely Loki wouldn't let her roam the heli-carrier alone, dressed solely in a towel which barely reached her knees? The door to the room slowly opened and Thor stood in the doorway, his eyes downcast, a mournful look upon his face.

"I am to take you back to your room," he spoke blankly. Frances shivered as he slowly raised his eyes to stare at her, it was like he looking straight through her, like he could tell everything that had happened in this room. He gritted his teeth in anger as he spoke, "I'm sorry if he hurt you Frances, my brother, he knows not what he does."

Frances laughed, Loki knew exactly what he was doing. In the throes of pleasure he had managed to get her to submit to him, to utter words that would render her helpless against his advances, to truly become a pawn in his twisted game of domination. "Where is he?" she asked, unsure of why she even cared.

"Most likely with the others," he replied.

"Others?" she questioned, her brow raising.

"I'm sorry Frances, I-," he stuttered but quickly composed himself, "I cannot share that with you."

Frances looked at him strangely, he shifted on the spot, his hands constantly fighting against the shackles that bound him. The metal was obviously tainted with dark magic, for there was no way that simple chains could have kept Thor prisoner. What exactly was Thor keeping from her?

"Do you mean the monsters that make up Loki's army?" she asked, stepping closer to him. He refused to look at her now, keeping his gaze fixated on his bound hands. He shook his head softly, dirty blonde locks falling into his face.

"I need to take you back to your room now Frances," he said mechanically, turning around to walk back into the busy hallway. Frances followed him, for she had nowhere else to go, and Thor's small indiscretion had peaked her interest.

Her room was far too warm with the fire blazing, and although she had been washed quite meticulously not too long ago, she felt dirty already. Now her life was just a waiting game, she felt nervous as she sat on her bed. She had rid herself of the towel and dressed in the garments that had been lying on the bed when she had arrived back in the room. A pair of nondescript trousers and a simple vest top, nowhere near as fancy as the green silk dress she had all but destroyed. Perhaps he was disappointed in her, had she been down-graded from potential bride and sexual slave to mere servant?

And so she waited, waited for the moment that he would make his grand appearance, for him to destroy what was left of her self-control. But he didn't come, the only person to enter her room that night was Thor with another measly crust of bread. Thor didn't say anything to her as he dropped the plate on the Thor, no matter how loudly she shouted at him. When the flame flickered, Frances could have sworn she noticed a fresh cut upon his face but he was gone before she got the chance to ask him. After her meal she returned to the bed, but instead of laying on the sheets, she climbed underneath them. He wasn't coming for her, for whatever reason, Loki Laufeyson had decided to give Frances Booth one night of peace.


	13. Chapter 13

I need to write longer chapters I know, I promise I will at some point. But here is this small chapter to keep you going. Thank you for sticking with this story. As always, please review and also throw me some suggestions of where you think this fic should go! xx

* * *

**Life During Wartime**

****Chapter Thirteen

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"Wake up," he whispered in her ear. Her eyes opened suddenly, snapped out of her dreaming by the cold breath tickling her neck and the presence of him obscenely close, far too close for comfort. Her natural survival instincts took over as she scrambled to the far side of the bed to get away from him. The firelight still flickered, and when he smiled at her it was sinister and devoid of sincere emotion. "Did you have pleasant dreams Frances?" he asked, perching on the mattress, the bed creaking under his weight. Although Loki was of slender build, Frances was sure the garish outfit he wore added a good few pounds. She glared at him, unwilling to answer the question. He chuckled softly to himself but his eyes stayed fixed on her, making her feel rather self conscious under his scrutiny. "There is no need to be like that Frances, not now," he said, sending chills of fear directly up her spine.

"What do you mean, not now?" she spoke at last, pulling her knees up to her chest in an attempt to shield herself from his penetrating stare. He shifted somewhat, moving his left leg further onto the bed, it seemed like he was trying to get comfortable.

"Now that you have given yourself to me," he spoke with pure conviction, as if he had never been more certain of a fact in his entire existence.

Frances swallowed and gritted her teeth, desperately trying to reign in the anger she felt towards this monster that sat before her, the monster who had destroyed her resolve and made her submit. "I will never give myself to you, you know this."

"Oh, but you already have. Or have you forgotten? Forgotten how my name emerged from your lips as I gave you more pleasure than you've ever experienced? Forgotten how you told me you were mine just before you willingly submitted your body to me? If you've forgotten all that so quickly Frances, I'm sure I can refresh your memory," he spoke darkly, his words tainted with a passion that burned just below the surface.

She shuddered as his words hit her, the memories flooding back, the feel of his hands, his weight above her, owning her in every single way possible. The memories weren't entirely unpleasant, but he was a monster, and she could never allow herself to be with a monster willingly. "You're a master at trickery Loki, but so am I," she replied, meeting his intense gaze. The faint hint of a smile disappeared from his face and was met with a scowl as he lunged for her, grabbing at her hair and pulling her forward to meet him eye to eye.

"You think you're clever Frances? Don't try and outsmart me, you will never win. I will break you in every single way possible, why, even now I could snap your neck in an instant and nobody would stop me," he growled at her, his face so close she could feel his spit intertwined with his cold breath. With his other hand he traced a finger up and down her neck, making her tremble, she shut her eyes as he continued to speak. "You think you're so special Frances, but there are hundreds just like you, you just may take longer to break, but rest assured, you will. You're a human, and humans are nothing more than an ant underneath my boot."

"How can the brother of Thor, the son of Odin, have so much spite for this world?" she spoke bravely, her eyes still shut tight as Loki leaned in even closer. She felt him grip her hair even harder, pulling her head back.

"I am no son of Odin," he spat, letting her go suddenly. She fell onto the bed, her head raging with pain and her breathing shaky, slowly she opened her eyes to look at him. He paced the room, clenched fists and a furious look upon his face.

"Son of Odin," he shouted as he moved across the room. "I was never a son of Odin, never part of that precious, golden family. They are the light, I am the dark, the fire where I am nothing but ice, they are the stage and I the shadow."

He rushed towards her again and she instinctively tried to run from him, she didn't make it very far as he pushed her back down onto the bed, her back hitting the soft blankets. Loki climbed atop of her, one leg in between hers, pushing them apart. His hands grabbed hold of her arms and pinned her to the bed, his face mere inches from hers.

"Never, ever, call me the son of Odin again, do you understand me?" he screamed. Frances couldn't help but stare into his eyes, now a furious green, and instead of seeing eyes filled with hatred and anger, all she saw was a broken child. Behind those orbs was a true pain she hadn't counted for, and she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. This evil, broken, monster of a God who had kept her prisoner, bent her to his will and destroyed the world she loved, was slowly breaking her, just like he had promised. He continued to stare at her, his eyes flicking from her own, to her lips and back again. What had happened to the man that was here just a moment ago, pulling her hair and threatening to suck the life from her body? The man that hovered above her was almost entirely a different person, the anger had seemed to vanish, and all that was left was a boy desperate for validation.

"I understand," she whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

Me again with another short ass chapter! I kind of have a vague idea of where to take this story now, but as always your feedback and ideas are most welcome. Thank you so much for reading and sticking with this story. xx

* * *

**Life During Wartime**

******Chapter 14**

* * *

It was the broken glint in his eye that broke her heart for the first time since arriving on the helicarrier. He had let his guard down, and she could see the real him, the child that craved a family, the brother that desired a companion, the son that needed a father, someone to love him unconditionally. She had heard tales about Loki ever since the incident with Thor in New Mexico, rumours spread that he was some kind of frost giant, a monster, but that was the extent of the information Frances had been passed. Ed had spoken of Loki briefly, she remembered him telling her that he had vanished without a trace, but yet here he was towering above her. The pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear, and there was a faint trace of moisture brimming around his pupils. In this moment, he was truly vulnerable, nothing like the creature who had taken her forcefully, kept her prisoner, and destroyed her home.

"What happened to you?" she asked him, her voice a whisper, her breath ragged. He slowly softened his grip on her wrists, still keeping her pinned tot he bed but somehow his grip felt more tender.

"Life happened to me, life with all its torture and anguish. I lived in a shadow, never in the sun, never like him," he replied, his eyes fixated intently on hers.

"Who?" she questioned, but she already knew the answer.

"The golden son, future King of Asgard, my darling brother, I do believe you've met?" Loki smiled, the weakness had all but disappeared, his walls had come crashing down on the last vestige of sentiment left there. Frances recalled the broken thunder God, now reduced to a stuttering servant. It evidently pleased Loki to emasculate his brother in such a way, there was a devious glint to his eye that showcased his pleasure perfectly.

"We've met," she said solemnly.

"I'm surprised he kept his filthy hands off you, he has a fondness for Midgardian women," his eyes roamed across her face and upper body, there was different expression in his eyes now that Frances couldn't quite place. He bit his bottom lip as he eyes dropped lower, dark and murderous, a truly frightening guise that made her feel uneasy.

It didn't surprise her to see his sudden change of emotion, in the time she had known him she had seen him shed emotions like skin. The man that looked at her now was the same man that had taken her against her will, forcing pleasure from her body along with lies from her lips.

"Who are the others?" she asked, desperate to draw his attention away from carnal desire. He narrowed his eyes at her, his brows furrowing, nose crinkled slightly.

"Who told you about the others?" he snapped, his face was so close to hers that she could feel the saliva escape with his words.

"Nobody told me, I overheard someone outside my door," she lied, not wanting to land Thor in an even more precarious situation.

"You didn't think you were the only one did you Frances?" he asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, you did," he chuckled sinisterly, noting her open mouth and wide eyes.

"How many?" she questioned through gritted teeth. He bit his bottom lip softly as his eyes continued to roam hungrily across her face.

"Now, now darling. You needn't worry such a pretty, little head with those details," he spoke seductively, his voice teasing her, willing her to submit to him.

"How many?" she screamed, pushing against him to try and push him off, but not matter how hard she struggled, it was to no avail. He was as solid as rock on top of her, his hands still holding her down, his grip becoming tighter.

"Does it pain you to know that you're not the only one? That you aren't special?" he questioned, his face spoke of intrigue but his tone was mocking. Frances did nothing but glare tat him, although his questioning knocked her. Why did she care how many women Loki had enslaved? A psychopath like him was bound to have hundreds of female companions to fill the void in his soul, to save him from his loneliness. She shuddered at the thought of what he did to them, perhaps she had been lucky so far and they had gotten off lightly?

"Trust me Frances, they all very much enjoy my affections. They have given themselves willingly, like humans often do. It is you, and only you, that continues to defy me. But you will break Frances, I'll make sure of it. And when you do, you will make the most delicious Queen," he purred, leaning in closer, his lips mere centimetres from hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out his image, to quell the burning desire that was starting to pool between her legs. He could take her right here, he could force her legs open, push himself inside and take everything she had, Frances wouldn't be able to stop him. But yet he held off, he liked the chase, the thrill of the burn like a child near an open flame. This game, this dance between them on the edge of hatred and passion, thrilled him to no end,he thrived on this. If he was telling the truth, she was the only one that continued to resist him, and because of that he had become enamoured with her. Frances knew what she had to do, to play him at his own game would take every ounce of strength she owned.

She fluttered her eyelashes softly, pouting her lips as she softly said, "make me your Queen, Loki."


End file.
